Observer
by themarshal
Summary: The message read: "Dr. T'Soni is to be watched. Standard protocol. Engage as you see fit. Report her every action to me."  It sounded easy enough: the daughter of Benezia was back on Illium, watch her. Fate's a funny thing, though...   Liara/OC/Nyxeris


I handed the security guard my ID. He snatched it away and swiped it across the terminal in one swift motion, a hint of a scowl on his face. I studied his features while he checked his list. He was one of those people who looked like he never smiled, like he'd been frowning all his life and his face just got stuck like that. It's funny how similar human faces were to ours, even their men. But you'd _never_ catch an asari frowning that much, and any asari who did would at least have enough sense to use biotics to fix herself up properly.

"Alissondra T'Novos?" he asked, like I was going to say 'no' to my own name.

"That's me," I responded with a smirk. My stomach involuntarily did a little flip-flop at the sound of my own name, in stark contrast to the expression I wore. I hated to use my _actual_ name, but on such short notice it was all I could do to hack my way onto the guest list; creating a new ID was simply out of the question. I probably could have used an old one, something I hadn't used in a while, but nobody at this banquet was going to know who I was anyway, so why go through the hassle?

The guard was obviously not impressed by me or my name, and could barely keep his eyes from rolling back into his head as he handed me back my ID. I took it, casually sliding it into one of the hidden pockets on my dress as I maneuvered around him. That kind of reaction's the price you pay for anonymity in Nos Astra; nobody gives a damn about you unless they know exactly who you are and how they can use you from the moment they meet you. You have to be important to be worth knowing, and you have to be useful to be important. Some people would hate that. They'd hate not being seen as important. But I'd say anonymity's one of the most potent weapons on Illium. Sex certainly worked when you could use it – which was more often than you might think – but as odd as it sounds to say, it took time. Money's always an option, but it's tough to gauge how much was enough for some people – everyone always wanted more. Information was Illium's _real _currency. Everyone was always doing something they didn't want found out, and in the right hands, the right secret could prove deadly –politically or literally – and keeping that knowledge out of the wrong hands was a full time job.

Anonymity, though… It's the perfect weapon. The counterpoint to the information business. As an unknown quantity, I always started as the one in power. I could be whoever I needed to be, even myself. Nobody would have dirt on me; nobody would know what to expect of me; nobody would know a damn thing about me. Knowledge was leverage, and without it, they were powerless against me. That's one of the benefits of working the way I do.

I scaled the long, wide staircase leading to the main foyer and stifled a gasp as the ballroom came into view. I was certainly no rube – I'd been to countless events like this one over the past few decades – but the grandeur of some of the architecture in Nos Astra never ceased to amaze me. The interior was huge, easily twenty meters tall and probably double that across. I probably could have landed a fair-sized starship in there if I crashed it through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room. And speaking of windows, the view they afforded was astounding. Given how much it probably cost to build this place, I wouldn't have been surprised if the financier just said 'screw it' and redesigned Nos Astra's skyline to get the most aesthetically pleasing view. In any event, someone was certainly spending a lot of money just to say they had a lot of money.

I reigned in my gawking and grabbed a dainty glass of something bubbly from a passing waitress. Couldn't have been more than 85 or 86 years old – the waitress, not the drink. She was adorable, and those pitch-black pants and matching loose-fitting vest – a sexy and surprisingly non-traditional outfit for an asari – certainly did their job grabbing my attention. They nicely set off her purple skin and darker purple facial markings, and did magical things to the gentle curves of her body. She looked over her shoulder at me with a wry grin. I responded with a raised eyebrow and a smile of my own. Yep, sex was certainly never going out of style. The powerful always had a way of surrounding themselves with it. Much like over-the-top displays of wealth, hiring all these delicious waitresses – almost as many gorgeous young human females to match the asari – was just another way to shout _'I have power!'_ My little lavender friend gave me a wink and returned to her duties. I smiled at her departing form, feeling a little tingle in my fingertips as I watched her hips sway back and forth. Sex was certainly my favorite display of power.

I took a sip and gazed around the room with a little more self-control than before; I didn't want to look too much like I didn't belong there. It was interestingly floral and fruity without being disgustingly sweet – the drink, not the room. It tasted like something a salarian made to try and taste like something a human made: sensible, delicate, and flirty. The bubbles tickled my nose in a satisfying way. I'd have to make it a point to ask my little lavender friend what it was called, assuming I could find her again. It was interesting to think that anyone would try to copy something that humans made, given how recently they had come onto the galactic stage. I guess it was a testament to their species. I mean _I_ certainly appreciated some of their finer gifts to the galaxy, and alcohol was just one of their best.

I continued my initial scan of the area, slowly meandering through the gigantic ballroom without any real purpose, at least none that would be obvious to anyone watching. I'd find who I was looking for in good time, so I might as well soak in all this extravagance. The room was perfectly lit from no obvious light source – dim enough to enjoy the view of the recently-set sun or hold a private conversation in a dark corner, but not so dark that one could get away with murder without turning a few heads. My eyes followed the windows upward and soon realized I was wrong. A wide balcony rimmed the entire room, and it was far too dark to see anything or anyone up there. Might be there so people can do their dirty deeds with a little more privacy. Might be for the service staff. Either way, might be useful.

I aimlessly strolled around the room, getting a read on the crowd. One human waitress walked by. Her shock of short, fiery red hair and glimmering emerald-green eyes immediately caught my attention, such a delectable combination of coloring. The way she was carrying that shiny platter called attention to her slender, shapely arms. I had an embarrassing weakness for a nice set of arms. No sooner had she passed than I was struck with the lingering aroma of whatever heavenly treat she was delivering and nearly felt my knees give out. I turned, and was about to follow her for a taste – of the food, not the waitress, at least not yet – when I caught sight of who I was looking for.

There she was at one of the tall, willowy tables strategically placed around the room. She sat, her back ram-rod straight, no doubt thanks to the kind of education that having a matriarch for a mother afforded her. Seating was at a premium in the hall, which was always the case at any decent party – hosts always wanted to keep their guests on their feet, milling about, talking, and never seated. And _of course_ she would have chosen to sit instead of stand; she was such a strange one. She wore a three-year-old _green _dress, which did nothing for her pretty pale-blue face, and nearly covered her from crest to heels when every other asari in the ballroom was showing enough skin to earn the cover of _Fornax._ She didn't have a drink in her hand or a plate of food. She didn't have a guest. She wasn't talking to anyone. And she was sitting. If she was trying to blend in at _this _party, she was doing a terrible job at it.

I spotted a nearby table that would put me out of her line of sight and sidled up to it, purposefully ignoring the salarian and human who were already there. They immediately stopped their hushed conversation and walked away. I couldn't help but grin. Amateurs. That kind of move would only arouse suspicion. Any operatives worth their pay would have faked like they were talking about something else for a few minutes after I interrupted them. Then they'd find something interesting to do across the room and politely excuse themselves. Whatever, I was here on business – mine, not theirs.

I took another sip of my delicious beverage – I'd have to get another one soon, it was going down fast – and scanned the crowd, looking as nonchalant as possible. Of course I never faced her directly; I wasn't quite ready to engage. Even out of the corner of my eye I could tell she was looking at someone or something rather intently; I just had to figure out who or what… The why wasn't terribly important. If it came to that I could always ask her directly. Best to learn all I could at a distance first. Information… Whether I liked it or not, it was a necessity on Illium.

From my vantage point I could see several business magnates, a few politicians, and enough gorgeous arm-candy to make a girl's crest twitch. At the angle I was at, though, I couldn't tell exactly where she was looking. I grabbed my nearly-empty glass, left my table and took a wide, arcing path behind her. I discreetly glanced over my shoulder as I moved in line with her and could finally make out a trio of humans that seemed to be her focal point.

One of them was Mr. Lodi. He was tall, striking, and well-aged for a human: pushing his sixties and showing it on his craggy face. His dark well-kept hair was starting to grey – something that happened to humans when they got older, which I found fascinating. He was known to be 'a bit of a cloaca' to many, if not all, of his salarian business partners. Pompous for all the wrong reasons – if nothing else than for making everyone call him 'Mr. Lodi' – he was nevertheless a moderately powerful industrial tycoon in Nos Astra, and at least partially responsible for that gorgeous skyline that dominated the view from the ballroom. The man he was talking to seemed to be nobody of importance, otherwise Mr. Lodi would at least be feigning interest in what he had to say.

Then I caught sight of the woman draped around Mr. Lodi and could only surmise that she was the cause of his distraction; she was certainly eye-catching. Again, probably the intention. Strikingly beautiful and almost as tall as Mr. Lodi, she also seemed to be fairly close to him in age, maybe only a decade or two younger. That was something of an anomaly, from what I understood about powerful human men. They had a well-earned reputation for 'trading in' their older spouses for newer models. I could appreciate youth as much as the next girl, but there was something about experience that really got my blood moving. Apparently that was something Mr. Lodi and I had in common.

The woman's long golden-blonde hair was done up to draw attention to her neckline – sometimes I envied human women with their hair, so many things they could do with it! She was wearing a breathtaking scarlet dress that seemed to be held against her body through nothing more than friction, and it wouldn't have surprised me that if she breathed a certain way the whole thing would slip right off. Judging from the well-defined muscles in her shoulders and the curve of her buttocks that pressed up against the fabric of her dress, I'd certainly enjoy the view if that ever came to pass. Something was off about them, though – the muscles, that is. They didn't seem to be the taut, sleek, 'earned' muscles that you might get through actual work or effort. They were probably just bought and paid for through high-priced physical trainers. That meant she was someone with a lot of time on her hands, more money than she knew what to do with, and not a whole lot of excitement in her life. Given how actively she was pawing Mr. Lodi – I really needed to learn his first name – I had an idea of how she might fill the empty hours in her day, and where she got her excitement.

She noticed me noticing her and turned towards me. I held her gaze to test out my theory about her favorite pastime, offering her the promise of untold wonders using only my eyes. It was a fun game to play – seeing who could get the other the most turned on with the least amount of effort. I was apparently winning. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and it seemed that her breathing became heavier. She gently bared her teeth, as though she was trying to take a bite of me – not an unpleasant prospect. Had she not been so tightly wrapped around Mr. Lodi at that moment I imagine she might have started floating towards me. That's not to say I was immune to her charms. I was just better at this game than she was.

Her eyes followed me as I made my way to another table. I leaned against it, giving her a satisfied smile, pleased with how much I managed to learn in a few steps. And, of course, more than a little delighted at the attention – I'm only asari, after all.

Someone at my table huffed. "_Excuse me_, miss."

I turned to see the human and salarian I had interrupted earlier, once again standing at the table I chose.

The salarian spoke first. Salarians always spoke first. "Can't you see that my friend and I are trying to have a private conversation? Please just—"

"As a matter of fact, I can, and so can everyone else in a 10-meter radius," I remarked as I took another sip of my drink. That caused the pair to suddenly stiffen and glance around. Amateurs. "Why don't you go meander instead of sitting at one of these tables and advertising just how private your conversation is?"

"I, uh…" the human sputtered.

"I… Yes, that's…"

"Go," I commanded. I was far more amused than I let on, but they didn't need to know that. The pair scurried off, slowing their pace when they must have realized how much their haste was making them stand out. I chuckled softly. Teaching moments were always fun.

I glanced back to the trio and felt a twinge of disappointment that Mr. Lodi's arm-candy wasn't watching me anymore. I supposed I couldn't expect to keep her attention forever. Still, I had to wonder what interest my little friend had in Mr. Lodi. I doubted she was terribly interested in the woman, though mostly that was based on how vehemently she had rebuffed _my_ flirtations earlier. It could just have been she had a thing for humans. Or something against asari. She _was_, after all, a pureblood. That carried a pretty heavy stigma in our society. I could only imagine how that might color her relationship with other asari. Pity.

I turned to face my friend and had to stifle a laugh. The poor thing looked so terribly distraught at the human man who was smarmily making a pass at her, leaning far too close than he needed to and giving her one of those awful overly-confident smiles. Maybe she didn't have a human fetish after all… or maybe she just had better taste than the likes of him.

When it became obvious that the few words she was saying to him weren't going to be enough to turn his attentions elsewhere, I decided it was time to swoop in and save her. A waitress passed before me with another tray of my wonderful drink. I quickly downed the remainder of my glass and pushed away from my table. I snatched up two more of the delicate glasses from the waitress' tray and made my way towards the other table, licking my lips and smiling in anticipation.

"She's spoken for," I mused aloud as I set one of the glasses down before my friend. I gave her a wide smile, making sure to pay as little attention as possible to the poor guy who was about to leave.

"Alissondra?" she gasped, straightening up even further – if that was possible – when she saw me. "What are you—"

"Excuse me, _miss_," the man snorted. Why was I always 'miss' when I pissed someone off? Did they really think that was a more polite way to call me a bitch? "I believe she and I were—"

I scoffed aloud, smiling into my glass, smiling at my friend; anywhere but at him. "You were getting nowhere, fast, slick. Just walk away." I drove home how little interest I had in him with a sip from my drink and an overly-exaggerated sigh of content. By the Goddess those bubbles were wonderful.

He defiantly stood his ground. Maybe he thought that growing a backbone would somehow make him appealing when all else had failed.

Normally I might have toyed with him a little longer, maybe even let him think that he was getting somewhere with one – or both – of us. Maybe he would have, too. He certainly wasn't bad looking, as far as human men went. On any other evening he might have proven good sport, provided I could look behind his character flaws. But right then I was done with him. More importantly: she was done with him. And some people needed more than subtle hinting that they're not wanted.

Despite their reputations, humans could be surprisingly easy to intimidate. I've been told that it's my eyes that make me so effective at it; I suppose species where golden eyes aren't naturally occurring find them threatening. I've found that they can work both ways – my eyes, that is – just as effective at enticement as intimidation. I turned to face our interloper and cocked my hip to one side, letting my leg slide out between the slit of my dress and accentuating every curve of my body – and let's face it, it's a damn fine body. His glance told me that he noticed it, that he enjoyed it – he'd be a fool not to. But sex, just like my eyes, could be used to compel for many reasons. And the glare I gave him said only one thing.

"Leave. Now." He was kind enough to oblige. I let the little façade I used to drive off Mr. Over-eager fade away as I turned back to my friend, who had yet to touch her drink.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Liara!" I smiled and took a sip of my own beverage. By the Goddess, those bubbles were wonderful.


End file.
